16. Konstantin
16
KONSTANTIN
I glare at my grandmother from across the table as everyone else, Sima included, takes their seats. Even though I’m the one hosting, she insisted that she sit at the head of the table. It’s just one of the few small ways she has left to try and assert her nonexistent control.
“Styopa,” she calls out to one of her guards once we’re all seated, but her eyes are locked on Emily, who keeps her own gaze at the table. “ Idi suda .”
I hold up my hand, making sure that the signet ring is visible. Styopa halts for a second when he sees it. But one nod from Alla, and he continues forward.
“Did I give you permission to enter?” I ask him quietly.
He turns around and looks at me, unsure if he should answer, and briefly looks towards Alla.
“I asked you question, Stepan Ivanovich,” I say, taking care to use his patronymic as a reminder of who he is speaking to. “Did I give you permission to enter?”
“ Nyet, Konstantin Yurevich.” He dips his head. But before he can continue his apology, I interrupt him again .
“In English,” I command. “So that my wife can understand.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Kostya.” Alla tuts. “Styopa should be allowed to speak in our language.” She takes the opportunity to caste another withering glare towards Emily. “As befitting a man of his status.”
“Interrupt me again, Alla Antonovna,” I hiss. “And I’ll have Gerasim Petrovich gag you so that we may all eat in peace.”
If Sima is surprised at the threat I sent my grandmother’s way, he does an admirable job of keeping it from showing on his face. But I notice the slight change in his posture. He sits a little straighter, and his legs shift slightly under the table, ready to stand up in a moment’s notice to carry out my orders.
“Kostya,” she scoffs. “Why do you insist on being so difficult?”
“ I’m being difficult?” Anger stabs at me again as the first course of breads are brought out. “You’re the one who seems to be under the delusion that you still have some say in this bratva.”
“Of course I still have a say,” she replies. “This bratva would be nothing without me. And you would do well to remember that.”
“Or you’ll what?” I pick up a piece of bread and rip it apart. “Have one of your guards put a gun to my head again?”
The silence that falls across the table is deafening.
Alisa and Emily both exchange a look with each other, and I can feel Sima getting ready to move on my command. One of the maids pauses mid-step and she quickly scampers back towards the kitchen, not wishing to be caught in the cross-fire .
“I did what I had to do to keep myself safe. Or have you forgotten that you were the one with your fingers wrapped around my throat?”
She straightens up, and fixes both her eyes—the good one and the one clouded from cataract—at me. A smile starts to spread across Alla’s face.
“But there is another matter that needs to be discussed,” she says. “One that I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear.”
Emily tenses next to me and her fingers tighten around her utensils until her knuckles are bone white from tension.
Alla looks at me smugly. “Your whore?—”
That single word provokes me to rage and my hand slams against the table, sending silverware and plates clattering.
“STOP CALLING HER THAT!”
Alla glares at me for a moment before continuing. “Your whore is pregnant.”
The news hits me like a bolt of thunder, and rage recedes in my mind as I look over at Emily. Her hands are shaking, and she stares intently at her own empty plate.
I blink my eyes rapidly as I digest this.
Pregnant?
I look back at Alla.
But how does she know?
And why didn’t Emily tell me?
Alla seizes my silence to press her attack. “And as much as I detest the idea of the mongrel growing in her belly, laying claims to treasures that my husband and son built, Siderov blood still flows through its veins. Which means I must live with the insult she continues to throw in my face, day after day. How do you imagine I feel?”
She points at Emily with the butterknife.
“How many times do I need to remind both of you that I saw through your little scheme, Kostya? She might pretend to be a pakhan’s wife well enough. She might even appear convincing to the rest of the household. But don’t you dare think for a minute that she won’t run the moment your back is turned.” A familiar nasty smile returns on Alla’s face. “Like she already did once.”
Those words shouldn’t hurt the way they do, but I can’t help feeling them slash across my heart.
I know why she left. Ivica told me already, and so had Emily—but in her own way.
It was something I did. I was the one who ultimately drove her away.
She didn’t feel safe with me.
And she still doesn’t feel safe around me to tell me the truth.
I chance a glance at Emily, and see her jaw is agape. She’s no longer looking at her plate now but at Alla. And when I catch sight of her sapphire-blue eyes, I see the one emotion I expect the least .
Anger.
“How …” she whispers. Her hands are shaking, and her chest rises and falls as she breathes as if she’s just run a marathon. “How can you say that? After everything you told me? After everything you did!”
“Emily …” I reach over and touch her arm lightly. “What did she do?”
“Do you expect her to tell the truth?” Alla slams the butterknife down on the table. “She’ll lie to you to turn you against me, Kostya. Against this family! Against the bratva!”
“Not another word,” I roar. Turning to Emily, I soften my voice as I take her hand in mine. “Go ahead, tell me.”
“After you left for Capri.” Emily’s voice is deadly quiet, but it never wavers. “She came to our room. But this time, she knew that there was nothing that could stop her.”
My world starts crumbling around me as she speaks, and my ears are ringing at the revelation. Fear and anxiety grab at my throat, and the same thought that had flitted across my mind just before rescuing her and Alisa returns.
I should’ve never left the castle …
Emily takes a shallow breath, and I’m left wondering just what the hell happened that night and what kind of suffering I had inadvertently subjected her to.
“She ordered her men to hold me down,” Emily continues, strength flowing into her voice as she shoots daggers at my grandmother from her eyes. “And she told me that she was there to make good on the promise she made when she first met me. To hurt me in ways I can’t even possibly imagine.”
My hand tightens as my jaw clenches reflexively in anger. I turn briefly towards Alla, see her face turning pale, and know that Emily is telling the truth.
“She brought sewing needles filed down so thin that they were practically invisible …” Emily whispers, and I feel my heart plummeting into my gut upon hearing her admission.
Closing her eyes, Emily starts retelling the horrific details of what happened in my absence. How Alla pushed those awful needles into her flesh while guards held her mouth closed to muffle her screams.
But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part is when she continues to talk after describing the details of her torture.
“She drew a vial of my blood,” she says. “And told me that until she knew that a Siderov lives in my belly, she’ll keep her guards away from me. But the instant she knows …”
Realization hits me like a thunderbolt. That’s why Emily thought she had to run. That’s why she didn’t feel safe in this castle. I had my part in it, yes, but it was my grandmother who gave her the final push to send her over that edge.
My grandmother goaded me into going to Italy that night.
All so that she might hurt Emily!
And because of that, I nearly lost her to Domenico.
Slowly, I turn her hand over in mine and examine it in detail.
And that’s when I see them.
Tiny little marks dotting her fingers, so small that they might not even exist at all. I follow them like they’re a map of pain my grandmother left behind, anger burning at my sides at the sight of one after another dotting their way until the crook of her arm. There, a single tiny little scar remains—evidence of Alla drawing Emily’s blood.
But the nearly imperceptible scars from the sewing needles don’t end there.
I follow along, feeling my anger multiplying with each one I count.
I find them all over her fingertips. Her palms. Her arms.
I urge Emily up to her feet, and look over the length of her calves and thighs, my heart shattering as I find one painful dot after another.
It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t the one who did this to her. By choosing to leave her behind to be tortured like this, I might as well have stabbed her with those needles myself.
Gingerly, I guide her back into her seat, my hands shaking from both rage and heartbreak .
“Emily ….” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have left you here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She looks at me, her sapphire-blue eyes shimmering. But there are no tears in them. I wait on her to show me a sign, to give me her permission to do what must be done.
Slowly, she gives me a nod.
And that’s everything I needed.
I turn towards my grandmother, feeling all control slipping from me as I finally let go of Emily’s hand. It’s a good thing the table is so long and she’s seated on the opposite end. Because if I can reach her, I would close my fingers around her throat until her neck snaps.
“You bitch.” I snarl. “You dared to touch Emily like this. To hurt her like this. You dare let your guards lay their hands on your pakhan’s wife? You dare to threaten her with rape?”
I turn my withering gaze towards Styopa, and he flinches.
“Were you in that room that night?” I demand. “Answer truthfully!”
“K-Konstantin Yurevich, I …” he begs. “I … I was just following orders. I didn’t … I wouldn’t …”
“Shut your mouth!” I roar. “Sima!”
“ Da. ” He rises to his feet.
“Take that svoloch outside,” I command. “And shoot him along with the rest.”
“With pleasure.” Sima smiles savagely, his wounded lip starting to ooze blood again from the motion.
Lighting quick, he closes the distance on Styopa as the man reaches into his pocket for his gun. But it’s too late. A single punch to the gut, and Styopa doubles over in pain.
The gun clatters uselessly to the ground from his jacket. Sima follows up the motion with a swift knee to Styopa’s face before dragging him away by his hair from the dining room.
A few seconds later, I hear a booming clap of thunder from the gun.
Then another, and another, and another.
Alla jumps in her seat from the noise each time, yelping. And finally, for the first time in my life, I see fear in her single good eye.
When silence finally falls, Sima returns. His face is grim and his eyes hard, but he gives me a nod. “It’s done, Konstantin Yurevich.”
All of us turn our gaze towards Alla.
“Please … Kostya,” she stammers. “Please.”
“Tell me, Alla Antonovna.” I lean forward on the table and ask her the same question she once asked of me. “What is the appropriate punishment for betrayal?”
She blinks furiously, panic spreading across her face as tears rush freely down her face. “Mercy! I beg of you! Mercy! If not from the kindness in your heart, then for the affections you once held for me, and the family ties that still binds us!”
“You should’ve thought of that when you committed your crime against my wife! My pregnant wife!” I pound the table again. “If there’s one person whose mercy you should beg for, it’s hers!”
Alla practically tumbles out of her chair, and crawls—sobbing pathetically—on her hands and knees towards Emily. “Please, Emily Samovna!” she cries as she wraps her arms around Emily’s feet and stains her shoes with tears. “Please don’t kill me. Please let me live! I was wrong to do what I did!”
I turn towards Emily. “What is your verdict? Does she deserve to live? ”
The room goes still, and all of our eyes are focused on Emily as she looks down at Alla. Where resolute anger once burned inside of those dazzling blue depths, only pity remains. She wrings her hands and chews her lower lip as she thinks. Finally, she looks away from Alla and towards me.
“She does.”
“Oh, thank you!” Alla collapses at Emily’s feet, peppering them with kisses. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
“I’m not finished,” Emily says coolly.
Alla freezes, and pulls back, blinking as she awaits the remainder of her verdict.
“From the day you met me, you’ve done nothing but shown me your hate,” Emily says. “You’ve threatened me, you’ve humiliated me, and you’ve hurt me in every way a woman can be hurt. I know that in the cruel world the bratva deals in, I would be well within my right to order your death. And if our roles were reversed, you would’ve done so without hesitation.”
She pauses for a moment to let her words sink in.
“But I’m not you,” she continues. “Which is why I will not force my husband to kill you. Because as much as you may hate me, and as much as it angers him to know what you did to me, I know it would hurt him so much more to watch you die by my order. But I’m not a fool. I know that if left to your own devices, it’ll only be a matter of time before you plot to hurt me again.”
“I won’t!” Alla says. “I swear I won’t.”
Emily holds up her hand for silence, and Alla obeys.
“You will be given new guards to keep you safe from the enemies of the bratva in a location of your choosing, but you will not have loyal henchmen who do your every bidding,” Emily speaks again to pass her final judgment. “You will not be lacking in any material things, but you will not be allowed to hurt those around you at your leisure. And above all, you will not come near this family anymore. Neither me, nor my husband, nor my sister-in-law, nor the child growing in my belly. Is that understood, Alla Antonovna?”
Alla gawks at her as the fight seeps out of her weathered bones. The reality of what she is about to face seems to crush in around her. Her lips open and close like a fish, but no sound comes out. Her hands shake, and finally, she casts her eyes down, and nods.
Emily rises from her seat, bends down, and helps Alla to her feet.
“Gerasim Petrovich,” she says softly. “Please escort my grandmother-in-law to her room, and have the kitchen bring her supper before she goes to sleep one final time in this castle.”
“I will, Emily Samovna.” Sima nods. “And please, call me Sima. You don’t need to be so formal with me any more.”
With that, he helps Alla out of the dining room. They shuffle out of the room, and it is only after their footstep fades away that Emily collapses into her chair, shaking.
“Was I too harsh?” she asks me.
“No, Kitty Cat.” I take her cold hands in mine, pouring my warmth into them until she stops shivering as I marvel at her. “You acted exactly as a pakhan’s wife should.”
“Which is?”
“With strength,” I answer. “And restraint.”
Power had come to her easily, yet she has not allowed herself to be corrupted by it. There was strength in her words, yes, and a measure of bitterness too. But not once did she give in to the easy allure of malice and vengeance.
This, I realize, this is why I fell for her .
Not for her beauty or for her wisdom or for her fiery nature that she keeps hidden from everyone but me.
But for the core of who she is: Someone so pure and innocent and good. Someone who won’t hesitate to protect and defend those who cannot protect themselves. Someone who has the capacity to be kind and merciful even to those who have inflicted unimaginable pain upon her.
By all means, I don’t deserve her, yet she came back so willingly with me.
I don’t need to hear her tell me that she loves me.
I know that she does.